


survivor

by brightclam



Series: fuck the discovery writers AU [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Episode: s01e05 Choose Your Pain, Gen, an in depth exploration of ash's trauma and ptsd, ash tyler isn't voq, ash was r.ped and if you disagree fuck off, trigger warnings in the author's note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 11:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13317432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightclam/pseuds/brightclam
Summary: Slaying a monster is never easy. Especially when that monster has gutted you and filled the cavity of your body with {herself}. Especially not when it feels like your heart won’t beat and your lungs won’t fill without {her}.Ash Tyler is going to kill the monster, no matter how empty his insides are.[Don't read if you want Ash to be voq. That will never be canon for me, so you won't find it here.]





	survivor

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes, Ash's experiences would overlap with my own and it would make me physically ache. And since the writers obviously aren't going to explore Ash's potential, let alone his ptsd, here I am.
> 
>  
> 
> tw: suicidal thoughts, victim blaming, slight self harm. vague mentions of the r*pe. general ptsd symptoms.

\------

Ash is hiding in the dubious shelter of the doorway, wondering if he can convince his ribs to just be bruised instead of broken. 

 

It had been easy---too easy---letting the guard throw him around before they broke free. He’s used to having them beat on him and him just taking it. Unfortunately, his mind being resigned to the pain does nothing to stop his body from being injured.

 

It hurts to breathe, and something in his knee aches. He can’t put weight on it and he curses it. The slim chance of escaping had finally come and his leg won’t work. His head spins and he wonders if that’s just the pain and the fear, or if he hit his head in the fight.

 

He’s thinking about his inevitable recapture, considering whether or not he can get one of the guards to kill him. He’s not dumb enough to believe Lorca will come back for him.

 

Then {she} arrives.

 

The darkness of the hallway wraps around {her} and slithers around {her} ankle, like it’s a thick velvet cape. It’s befitting a monster, and his world twists sickeningly when he looks at {her}. The pain in his ribs become constant as he pants for breath, panic forcing his body into overdrive. Sweat runs down his cheek and it feels like tears.

 

His mind fuzzes out, staticy like a bad transmission, and then he all he can  
feel---  
see---  
hear---  
remember---  
is {her} hands and mouths and knives in---on him.

 

His prey-brain identifies the predator and begs him to escape. It sends him running, a few stumbling steps away from {her}. 

 

{She} speaks and it’s too loud; it rings through the hallway in a way that isn’t possible, louder than even his own blood rushing in his ears. {She} owns every part of him; his ears are desperate to listen to {her}. His body is trembling and splitting, trying to flee from {her} and return to {her} at the same time.

 

“After all we’ve been through together?”

 

He wants to scream that they’ve never been together, there is no we, that {she} has been using and hurting him for as long as they’ve been in the same space. But {her} words merge with the part of his mind whispers that he’d encouraged it, he’d arched under her touch and pretended it didn’t leave him shaking and vomiting up bile when he was thrown back into the cell. {She} speaks in unison with the part of him that says it’s his fault and it steals his words away from him.

 

He wants to run but his knee threatens to fail again and he almost wants it to, almost wants to collapse and lie on the floor and wait for {her} sharp fingers to come for him. Part of him wants to go still and pliant and survive the way he has been for seven months. His body feels like it’s filled with weights, like the ship’s gravity has increased only for him and it’s dragging him down. He wants to give up.

 

His chattering teeth dig into his lip and fresh blood blooms, its iron tang achingly familiar. Once, he tasted more than his own blood and {her} bitter saliva. Once, he had been a human being, more than clay to be molded into whatever shape {she} wished. Once he had been Starfleet, glimmering gold and dreaming of exploring stars wrapped in cold, dead darkness.

 

He thinks of the captain that had been kind enough to lie and say he’d come back, who’d tried to help him walk for a few steps, and he realizes:

 

He wants to die here.

 

He wants to die here, a Starfleet prisoner in the middle of an escape attempt, who killed at least five Klingons and almost made it. He wants to die here, not in {her} bed when he finally breaks and begs {her} to stop hurting him and {she} spills his blood across the sheets. 

 

He was a person, once, and he wants to die like one.

 

He charges {her} and there’s a scream tearing out of his throat, more a roar than a scream. Then he’s burning, burning with pain as the movement jars his ribs and knee, burning victoriously when he sees the shock on {her} face before he makes contact, burning with rage and vengeance for every single time {she} had ever touched him.

 

{She} goes down easily, {she} wasn’t expecting him to attack, and he lands on top of {her}. He straddles {her}, taking a second to note the role reversal with dark satisfaction, and then he starts punching.{Her} bones are thick and {her} ridges sharp but he’s not going to stop until his fingers shatter and they drag him off {her} and kill him. 

 

If there’s one thing he’s going to do in this world, he’s going to get rid of this monster. He’s going to make sure {she} never hurts anyone ever again.

 

{She’s} roaring, the noise a strange mix of pain and anger he hasn’t heard {her} make before, and {she} begins to buck slightly. But he’s ready and fueled by anger, so he pins {her} down easily and keeps pummeling.

 

A guard appears at the end of the hallway and fear hits him; he doesn’t have enough time, he has to kill {her} before they kill him---

 

The guard goes down and the captain reappears, eyes scanning for Ash, and it’s enough to loosen his grip. {She} throws him off and then {she’s} on top of him again and no please no---

 

He wants to shriek in terror, in despair, in anger, but he’s frozen. His mind runs frantic circles around his skull but his body is immobile, helpless under {her} bulk. {Her} fist pulls back and sways in the air like snake waiting to strike.

 

{She’s} knocked off with enough force for him to feel it and he’s up, tottering on his weak legs, unsure whether to go after {her} again or go to the captain’s side. In the end the choice isn’t his, the captain grabs him and pulls him away and Ash almost fights him. He wants to kill {her}, but {she’s} screaming and he can hear the sizzle of {her} flesh burning, and he hopes it’ll be enough. Please, let it be enough.

 

\-------

 

He hasn’t felt the burn of a transporter in so long and he welcomes it. When he materialises on the platform there’s too much weight on his bad leg and he collapses, his knees cracking against the hard metal. He can’t believe they actually made it, this can’t be real. He’s struggling to get back on his feet, back to being ready to fight, but there’s hair in his eyes and the blood crusted on his face itches and his legs won’t listen.

 

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, holding him still in the half crouched position he’d reached. It’s the captain and his rough voice is comforting as he speaks, a wry smile mixed in with the words.

 

“Easy, soldier. You’re home.”

 

Ash doesn’t believe he could have actually escaped but there’s no doubting this is a federation ship.

 

He doesn’t feel accomplished; he feels like an abyss has opened in his chest. The transporter operator is staring at him in concern and Ash suddenly knows all his sharp, Klingon-made edges don’t fit this well lit, gleaming room. He doesn’t fit, he doesn’t remember how to be a person and not a clawing animal that does anything to survive.

 

He suddenly knows he can’t let it show, can’t let the corruption {she} pushed into his skin leak out. He can’t let them see how broken he is. They would be pitying or disgusted or hateful. And what if {she} is right, there was a we, and they can see that he had given in to the enemy? What if they could see that he’d let them break him and take out everything that made him human and shove their hungry hands inside him instead?

 

He does the best he can to shove his shattered pieces back together and grins up at the captain.

 

“Nowhere I’d rather be, sir.”

 

\------

 

Ash Tyler tries to remember how people act. He practices smiling and sauntering in front of his mirror until it looks natural. He tries not to bolt his food or jump when people walk up behind him. He’s careful not to get distracted on shift, although his body seems so far away and his mind fuzzes out at inconvenient times. He doesn’t cry outside of his quarters and always keep them soundproofed so his screaming in his sleep can’t be heard.

 

His hands still shake visibly, but otherwise he’s doing quite well. He’s pulled the facade of a person over his shattered self and no one seems to have noticed.

 

Ash Tyler is a survivor, and he’ll survive this too.

 

\------

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any questions about this fic or just want to scream about how ash tyler was robbed, I'm @brightclam on tumblr. Feel free to talk to me!


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